Two poems by Terri Kirby Erickson
Night Fishing on Long Beach Pier
Without the loud whoops of children,
their feet pounding the floorboards as
they ran, or the incessant cries of hungry
gulls, what we heard was water sloshing
around the pilings, the hushed voice of
our mother saying, soon, soon, we’ll go
home soon, as we leaned against her soft
shoulders beneath the green glow of old
fluorescent lights and stars that looked
like tiny tears in the night’s dark fabric.
Our father was just a silhouette slouched
against the knife-marked, shrimp-husk-
littered railing, his fishing rod bowed
and gently bobbing as invisible waves
rolled into the shore. A few miles down
the beach, the incoming tide was busy
washing away the sandcastle my brother
and I built in front of the rented cottage
where our grandmother, worn out from
surf fishing since dawn, was sleeping. It
was hours past our bedtime, so our eye-
lids—my brother’s and mine—fluttered
like the wings of Luna moths against our
smooth, sunburned cheeks as the night
air ran its salty fingers through our hair.
Still, our father fished on and on. To reel
in his hooks meant some legendary fish
might clamp its jaws around someone
else’s bait. But perhaps it was the sight
of his young family huddled on that slim
wooden bench—his wife’s face glowing
like a moon-lit slipper shell, his children’s
nodding heads as we struggled to stay
awake—that kept him from packing up
his gear. Maybe he didn’t want it to end,
this feeling he couldn’t name, so fleeting
it was almost gone, already, and nothing
anyone can do or say will bring it back.
Goldfinch
For Felicia
Stunned by an unforgiving
pane of glass, a finch
fell to the ground
like a splash of pale
yellow paint. It sat
shivering in the snow,
its heartbeat faster
than a spinning bobbin
in the aftermath of such
a killing blow. Yet,
this little bird’s thimble-
full of life held fast
to its fragile body,
and was soon cradled
by a loving human hand.
There, with splayed
feathers stroked smooth,
belly warmed by
a kind woman’s skin,
the goldfinch rallied.
It spread its gilded wings
and flew to a snow-
laden branch, forgetting
before it got there,
the sky’s unyielding
reflection—then flew
again—a bird-shaped
star with billions
of years left to burn.
North Carolina native Terri Kirby Erickson is the author of six collections of poetry, including A Sun Inside My Chest (Press 53), winner of the 2021 International Book Award for Poetry. Her work has appeared in “American Life in Poetry,” Asheville Poetry Review, Atlanta Review, JAMA, Poet’s Market, Sport Literate, storySouth, The Christian Century, The Sixty-Four: Best Poets of 2019, The Sun, The Writer’s Almanac, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Verse Daily and many more. Her awards include the Joy Harjo Poetry Prize and a Nautilus Silver Book Award. Read her previous poems in Deep South here.